


half the night

by silkymittsmcgee



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Courtship, F/M, M/M, Pining, Polyamory Negotiations, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkymittsmcgee/pseuds/silkymittsmcgee
Summary: Geno was Anna’s at home and Sid’s on the road. They were all fine with it.
Relationships: Anna Kasterova/Evgeni Malkin, Sidney Crosby/Anna Kasterova/Evgeni Malkin, Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 27
Kudos: 133
Collections: Sid/Geno/Anna Exchange: Round 2





	half the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saintroux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintroux/gifts).

What a horrible start to the season.

He should get up. He should shower and shave and go do PT with Andy. He should make himself breakfast and call his sister. He should honestly probably change the sheets on his bed, they were getting pretty gross. He should wash the casserole dish Nathalie gave him and give it back to her. He should get up. He should answer Geno’s texts.

He should answer Geno’s texts.

He rolled over and went back to sleep.

*

They’d had one game together, between their injuries. Geno had played like a man possessed, his line combining for three goals in an OT win in New York. His cocky grin had turned Sid’s crank _hard_, and they’d barely had the hotel door shut behind them before Sid was on his knees, yanking at Geno’s nice suit pants. They’d had Sid’s favorite kind of sex, rough and messy and a little bit mean, and Geno had been red-faced and close to crying by the time Sid had let him come. It was perfect.

And it was on hold, again.

*

Sid had known he was out as soon as he hit the boards. He’d been fighting with the trainers for weeks over this stupid strain, but managed to put them off through the beginning of the regular season, through Rusty’s busted hand and Geno’s strained knee. He’d tried to baby the ligaments as best he could, but there was no escaping the fact that he was in for at least a month of IR, if not surgery. He’d hoped he could avoid surgery.

“You cannot avoid this surgery, Sidney.” Dr. Vyas stated gravely, his hand dry and a little chilly where it patted at Sid’s hip. “If you insist on just rest and ice, you’ll be aggravating this injury every few months, and then hockey won’t be an option for you at all. Your appointment is at 9 on Thursday morning—you know the drill, no eating or drinking before you come in.”

Sid nodded, cleared his throat. It was fine. “So, going to New York for the Rangers game, that’s—”

“Not an option for you. Rest, ice, get ready for your surgery.”

“Right.” He stood, wincing a little at the strain, shook Dr. Vyas’s hand. “Thank you.”

The crease between Dharmesh’s eyebrows deepened, and while normally he was _very_ good at keeping it professional, the pity in his eyes was palpable. “I’m sorry, Sid. I know what this means for you.”

He didn’t, but whatever. “Thanks. See you Thursday.”

Sid didn’t quite limp as he walked to the hired car, but the guy behind the wheel gave him a sad look anyway. A Penguins fan, then. At least he didn’t say anything, and Sid could wallow in peace in the back of the car as traffic whizzed past his window. He checked his phone. Anna had texted.

**sorry sid (((((((((((**

That was to be expected. He’d have to let G know he wouldn’t be travelling with the team for the foreseeable future. He screwed his eyes shut and thumped his head softly against the window. No travelling with the team. _Thump._ He stopped before the driver could get nervous. He didn’t text Anna back. 

*

The problem with IR was that it was horribly, terribly boring.

_ “You’re a huge weenie, Squid.”_ Taylor was laughing at him, a little out of breath. She had called to berate him while she ran to her next class, and he could hear the noise of traffic in the background. He was glad that she was living in Pittsburgh, for now—it was nice to have someone that indulged his weakness for self-pity ice cream. To an extent. _ “I know it's like, _ super _ heartbreaking that you’re not in New York—” _ she paused to add in a theatrical gag, and continued, _ “—with your roadie boyfriend, but you honestly need an attitude adjustment. It’s eight weeks, not the end of your career.” _

Sid rolled his eyes and adjusted the ice pack he had balanced on his junk. It was fucking sore. “I know that. I’m not trying to be a toolbag, it’s just—”

_ “You miss your boyf.” _

“Please stop talking.”

She snorted and he could hear a door slam shut, and the sound of people chattering. _ “Yeah, yeah, alright. Ice your nuts, dickwad, and I’ll see you tomorrow night. I want barbeque chicken pizza, extra sauce.” _

“Let’s never talk about my nuts again. And I still have a meal plan to follow, you know.”

_ “Tell that to Andy and Nate. You don’t fool me. Get those parmesan twisty things, too.” _ She hung up. 

Sid was back to staring at his dark TV screen. Taylor was right, he was being a jerk. Case in point, his refusal to turn on the pregame. A stupid tantrum that absolutely nobody was there to witness, anyway. He turned on the TV. Sid felt an absurd sort of kinship with the corner camera operator, who kept lingering on the back of Geno’s neck. His necklaces were twisted and glittering in the arena lights. Sid had given him one of them for New Years in 2012. Geno had blushed down to his sparsely-haired chest, and returned the gesture a year later with a new gold chain for Sid. 

Sid shook his head, and settled down to watch the game.

They lost in overtime.

*

It had been years since they’d shared a bed anywhere but a hotel room. 

Sid wouldn’t allow himself to be upset. There was no one to blame for that but himself. 

*

He’d known about Anna, abstractly, for a couple of years before she moved to Pittsburgh. Enough to notice the small, stupidly tender smile on Geno’s face when he was texting her, enough to back out of the door of Geno’s hotel room when he noticed that they were video chatting. Enough to want to shoot himself in the face when he finally broke down and Googled her name. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful and Sid was a jealous swamp creature. 

But he was also devoted to making Geno happy, so he smiled and listened when Geno crowed about the seventy-thousand roses he sent her, or how she came to support him at Worlds in Minsk, even though they only saw each other in between games. He tried to keep his feelings under wraps, and maybe it worked, because Geno didn’t seem to notice a change—they were still killing it on the ice, and spending off days on each others’ couches, making out or playing video games. Geno had a key, and let himself into Sid’s house frequently to beg for dinner, even though he had a perfectly good kitchen at his own house. Geno claimed that he hadn’t gone grocery shopping, but Sid knew he was a dirty liar and just wanted Sid to cook for him. He’d said as much, and Geno had huffed and thrown a piece of pasta at him. 

Sid loved him, the big moody bitch.

From the stories that Geno told, Anna loved him, too.

*

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Sid called as he hobbled towards the door. He was a little over two weeks post-op, and thank god his junk wasn’t swollen any more. The incision pulled, though. He’d gotten the stitches out yesterday.

The doorbell rang another six times in quick succession. Sid pulled open the door, and narrowly missed a toddler attack. “Uncle Sid!” He caught Nikita’s head in his open palm to stop his assault.

“Hey, bud!” Sid grinned at him. “Gotta be a little gentle, okay? Still recovering over here.” He looked up at Anna from his half-crouch and smiled. “Hi, Anna.”

She was in a huge grey sweater and leggings, sunglasses perched on the top of her head. She smiled warmly at him and Sid felt his cheeks heat. “Sidney, you don’t answer my text.”

He answered her arched eyebrow with even redder cheeks. “Uh, yeah, I haven’t been great company, uh. Lately.” 

“Lucky you, I don’t care.” She crouched, too, so she was eye-to-eye with Nikita, and laid one elegant hand on Sid’s shoulder for balance. Sid could smell her shampoo. His shoulder burned under her touch. “Nikit, you listen to Sid. Play nice, he’s injured.” 

“Anna, I’m—”

She stood up, slid her aviators down her nose. “I have class, Zhenya is in Columbus, you will watch Nikita.”

Sid almost missed the days when she wasn’t as confident with her English. She didn’t give him orders back then. He was always a little disturbed at how much he liked it. “Class?”

She sniffed delicately. “Yes, yoga. Now play with my son, I will be back in,” she checked her watch, “three hours.”

Three hours. Sid could do three hours. He ran a kid’s hockey camp in the summer, he could do three hours of one-on-one with his favorite toddler. No problem. He watched her walk back to her car, waved at her as she pulled out of the driveway, and allowed himself, just once, to touch his shoulder where her hand had been.

*

Geno had brought her over for dinner, shortly after they had gotten back to Pittsburgh. Sid hadn’t been sure it was a good idea—his emotions were certainly still raw from their fighting, and he was sure Geno’s were too, but G wouldn’t be swayed.

Sid had made pot roast with mixed greens and a side salad. He had a bottle of wine chilling in the freezer, and Geno said they were bringing dessert. Sid was as ready as he could be.

He wasn’t ready.

Geno rang the doorbell when they arrived, which he hardly ever did anymore. Sid couldn’t help but think that he did it for Anna’s benefit. He opened the door to Geno’s grinning face and Anna’s quieter amusement, her eyes soft and affectionate on Geno’s face. She was in a black dress and heels. G was in camo shorts. Sid was in pain.

Dinner was good, if a trifle uncomfortable at times. Anna’s English was halting, but Sid could already see that she would be better than Geno in no time. He tried to keep the conversation away from hockey for a while, for her sake, but it quickly devolved into a dissection of their power play. Anna didn’t seem to mind, and just sat quietly, sipping her wine and resting her eyes on whoever was talking. Sid was warm under the collar. It was summer, after all.

He gave her his phone number, before she left. Just in case, you know.

She texted him a fried shrimp, and when he looked up, she was smiling at him.

*

Three hours babysitting on IR was _very_ different from three hours perfectly healthy. 

Nikita ran him absolutely ragged. They colored at the kitchen table (Sid colored neatly inside the lines with the appropriate colors—Nikita did not), played a game of knee hockey that Niki decreed “disappointing”, made grilled cheese sandwiches for a snack (with Nikita quizzing Sid on Russian kitchen vocab—Sid did abysmally), and finally ended up parked on the couch with Finding Nemo on the TV. Nikita was big into fish, currently. Sid blamed Geno. It was a nice afternoon.

His phone buzzed. **alive? ))))**

He huffed a laugh. **Yes, thanks. We’re watching Nemo haha**

The typing bubbles popped up, disappeared. Reappeared. She sent a single shrimp emoji. He replied with a turtle. Nikita shifted against his arm and kicked a leg out across Sid’s thigh. 

**I’m bringing things for dinner. you have rice?**

Sid blinked. **Yeah, but you don’t have to do that. I’m sure you have plans or something**

**no, only you. unless you don’t want?**

Sid wanted it so bad. He was moody and lonely. **No, that sounds nice. Sorry. Can I get anything started?**

She was quick to reply this time. **preheat oven 350, start water to boil? )))**

Sid ruffled Nikita’s fluffy hair and stood up. “Your mom’s on her way here, bud. Looks like you’re staying for dinner. Did you wanna help in the kitchen, or stay watching Nemo?”

Nikita threw him a mildly superior look that reminded Sid aggressively of Geno. “Nemo.”

Sid retreated into the kitchen and set about readying it for company. He’d been a little bit of a slob over the past few weeks, moping about and letting Taylor bully him into pizza more often than he’d like to admit to. He set the oven to preheat and water to boil, took out the trash. Wiped down the counters. He was cleaning the range and wishing he had thought to put flowers on his grocery delivery order when the doorbell rang again. 

“Mama!” Nikita screeched and Sid could hear him sprinting for the front door. He shook his head and blinked, gathering his thoughts back up and putting them away. He didn’t need flowers on his grocery order.

Anna swooped into the kitchen, Nikita on one hip and a paper bag of groceries on the other. Sid took the bag hurriedly and set it on the counter. “How was your class?”

She shrugged. “You know, good. Relaxing. Michelle is here, we get manicures, pedicure.” She wiggled her fingers at him, the polish gleaming. A French manicure, he thought. “My toes are pink.”

“I like pink.” Sid said, his brain-to-mouth filter clearly not engaged. What was he doing? “I mean, uh, that’s nice. Are they still—uh, drying? Should you not—” he fumbled his words, “Do things? With them?”

She was laughing at him, her eyes crinkled into crescent moons. “They’re gel, Sid, it’s fine. Invincible.” She set Nikita down and started pulling things out of the grocery bag. “Super nails.”

He helped her with dinner, chopping vegetables for a salad while she made foil packets of tilapia, drizzling them with oil and spices and cherry tomatoes. Anna spoke easily about her day, her low voice soothing, and asked him frequent questions, somehow none of them related to his stupid injury. Nikita piped in with anecdotes about their afternoon, and Anna laughed until she was bent over, clutching her stomach, at Niki’s scathing commentary of their knee hockey match.

It was nice. 

“You want anything to drink?” he asked.

“Just water, please. Lots of ice.” She turned, holding her oil-covered hands carefully away from her as she moved to the sink. “Nikit! Come wash your hands for dinner, please.”

Nikita scrambled into the kitchen on his socked feet, holding a knee hockey stick in one tiny fist. “Five minutes?”

“No, now, put stick away and come wash hands.”

The speed with which he obeyed was inspiring. Sid filled three glasses with water, passing on wine because Anna wasn’t having any, and grabbed a small glass of milk for Nikita as well. They all sat down together for supper. Anna smiled at him from across the table, and Sid suddenly felt like he had been bag skated.

It was fine.

*

They fought about it, extensively. It was the only way they could fight, really. Sid hated to yell, and Geno would stomp around and bitch at him and then retreat to sulk, waiting for Sid to ask what was wrong. As a point of pride, Sid always waited a beat too long to ask, which would spark another wave of sulking. Geno said that Sid was trying to break up with him. Sid said that Geno was being a dramatic asshole, and that he was just trying to set some boundaries for their relationship, trying to make it easier for Anna. Rinse, repeat. 

Sid wasn’t sure what made Geno acquiesce. He suspected that Geno had finally broken down and told Anna what was going on, and she had convinced him that Sid had the right of it. Either way, it resulted in their current arrangement. 

Geno was Anna’s at home and Sid’s on the road. They were all fine with it.

*

Sid went to video review after the guys got back from Missouri, sat in his usual spot with Geno on his right. It wasn’t weird at all.

“You ignore me so much, Sid,” Geno said quietly, and when Sid glanced at him, he had his tongue stuffed in his stupid lower lip, pleased with his teasing. “I have to send my wife, bully you.”

Sid snorted, eyes on the screen as the coaches pulled up clips. “As if. Literally everyone knows she’s the boss.”

Geno rolled his eyes and stretched, letting his arms fall on the backs of the chairs on either side of him. Sid could feel the heat radiating off of him. “Yes, she’s queen.”

They didn’t chat through video review, only speaking up to criticize every once in a while. Back to back losses to Columbus and St. Louis were tough to stomach, and it was easy to see that they guys were determined to make some serious changes. Sid tried to keep his yapping to a minimum. He didn’t do very well. 

“Lunch?” Geno bumped him with his shoulder.

“Uh,” Sid paused, trying to look like he wasn’t attempting to think up an excuse. “I’m actually—”

Geno nodded decisively and began herding Sid down the hall, towards the parkade. “We get lunch. Sushi. You owe me for ignoring.” 

Sid sighed and pulled out his keys. Best not to argue. “I’ll meet you there.”

Geno’s favorite sushi restaurant was a tiny place where the hostess saw Geno’s face and immediately brought them to a private back table, comfortable and secluded. She smiled quietly at them when she placed their menus on the table, informed them that their server would be right with them, and left.

Geno folded his hands on the table and stared at Sid.

”Don’t look at me like that, G.”

”I’m so sorry, Geno,” he wavered in a high, mocking falsetto, “I’m Sidney Crosby and I got hurt so I lose my mind, so sorry, for sure.”

His monstrous attempt at a Canadian accent had Sid biting back a smile. “I know, I was being a self-absorbed prick.”

Geno snorted. “That's not new, Sid.” He shoved at Sid’s foot under the table, smirking a little, then quieted. His eyes were level and serious, a little sleepy looking under his wonky eyebrows. “Missed you.”

Sid’s heart was in his throat, a little. “Yeah, I missed you, too.” He paused to let Geno give their order to the waiter who had suddenly appeared, looking just a little too casual to not be a fan, and continued. “I was in a really shitty mood, and I’m sorry I took it out on you.”

”Taylor say you eat six pizzas by yourself.”

”That’s a lie and she’s a traitor.”

The waiter dropped off their drinks—beer for Sid, a glass of sweet white wine for Geno—and disappeared again. It was quiet for a moment, and it should have been fine. They did quiet really well, most of the time. Sid thought sometimes that it was a remnant of the quiet weeks they spent together during his concussion, and Geno’s knee injury. They had passed hours in the dark, Sid with a mask over his eyes as G read on his Kindle. Sid could recall with perfect clarity the sound of Geno breathing—the air huffing wetly out of his mouth due to his ridiculously deviated septum. Sid loved his stupid useless nose. 

”Sid.”

He snapped his eyes back up to meet Geno’s gaze. “Yeah.”

”Tell me.”

”I don’t really know what you want me to say.”

”Anya say your house, like, sad. Graveyard.”

Sid winced. He thought he had done a good enough job of cleaning up, and was embarrassed that she had seen through his efforts. Geno saw him flinch and continued, “You all grumpy, pouty, depressed.”

”Not with her!” Sid protested.

Geno inclined his head. “No, she say you good to her, to Nikita. But sad.” He looked up, met Sid’s eyes. “Tell me.”

Sid’s breath escaped in a long sigh. “It’s just. It’s been hard. Being stuck on the couch. Not being, uh, not traveling with the team.” With Geno. He took a long pull of his beer. “You know. IR always sucks, I’m not a special case.”

Geno studied him quietly, picking absently at a flake of skin on his fat lower lip. They were always so fucking chapped. He said nothing.

Maybe he’d get another beer. “I’m, I dunno, I did the surgery and I’m doing all the PT and shit, so now it’s just. Waiting.”

“You worst at waiting.”

Sid’s lip curled snidely. “Yeah, like you’re so much better.”

”We’re not talk about me, we’re talk about you.” Geno paused. “Your feelings.”

Sid didn’t know what fucking dimension they had walked into, but he didn’t like it. “Come on, G, this is stupid.”

”No, I think you need.”

”Bully.”

”You like.” He paused, his lip a little bloody from where he had picked too hard. “I want to know, Sid. I’m think, like, I just miss you, you know? And you ignore me, no text, no call, it’s like, what I do?” He looked up, and Sid was taken aback at the sheen of moisture in his eyes. He saw his shock mirrored in Geno’s face, as he tipped his face back and blinked furiously. “Don’t look at me.”

”G—”

”Oh, shut up.” Geno said in Russian, and sniffed. It was a horrible sound. “Tell me your feelings, leave me alone, I’m emotional guy.”

Sid could count on one hand the amount of times Geno had been reduced to tears _and_ the conversation had continued. He usually had to stomp off and have feelings in private. Sid wasn’t sure what it meant that Geno was still sitting here, staring at him meaningfully. “What do you want, G?”

Geno shook himself a little and shrugged. “I want know what happen, like, in your head? What you’re thinking, if,” he paused, toying with his wine glass, “If I need worry, you know.”

”God, no, I’m—really, it’s fine, I’m fine, you don’t need to worry at all.”

Geno’s eyes were soft on his face. He was so good at waiting Sid out, and Sid wondered where he had learned it. Anna, maybe, though from the sharp way they spoke to each other, Sid didn’t think so. “Sid, you know—” He covered Sid’s hand with his own, and Sid knew. The _I love you_ was unsaid.

”Yeah, me too.”

He stroked Geno’s palm with his thumb.

Their food arrived and as they ate they caught up on team gossip and discussions of plays that video review hadn’t gotten into—Sully liked to focus on a couple of key points at a time, but Sid’s brain moved too fast for that, and Geno was little better. Sid gave Geno a play-by-play of his “playdate” with Nikita, and Anna’s incredible cooking skills.

”She like you, you know. Maybe you come for dinner, like, hang out with her while we’re on road trip, you know?”

Sid paused. It’s not like he was a stranger at the Malkin house, but it was true, he didn’t typically spend time there sans Geno. Would that be weird? Dinner with Anna hadn’t been weird, before, and he liked playing with Nikita. He nodded, and stole the last spicy tuna roll.

Geno gasped in outrage.

*

They were so young, when they started. Flushed with victory and the strange jungle juice of liquor poured into the Cup, smelling of sweat and chlorine and charcoal from the grill, they had staggered into Sid’s room at Mario’s. Laughing into each others’ mouths, they had tumbled into bed, hands grappling for purchase on sweat-soaked skin. Sid had gasped when Geno’s mouth found his nipple, tugging at it until it was puffy and red, and continued down to strip off his wet swim trunks.

It had been over way too fast.

”Sid, you know, I—” Geno had said.

”Yeah. Yeah, G, me too.”

It had only been the beginning.

*

Early December was a mess of freezing rain and painful PT appointments, but the team started winning more games, which improved moods all around. Sid redownloaded Candy Crush and played maniacally, until level 537 stumped him, and he had found himself Googling tips on winning. He deleted the app, and Geno laughed at him for a good four minutes, calling him a whole bunch of things in Russian.

Sid redownloaded Duolingo.

Anna texted him every couple of days, and Sid suspected that Geno had put her up to it, had asked her to check in on him. He didn’t really mind it—she sent him pictures of Nikita and an endless train of dancing girl emojis. He sent back photos of his candy stash (**mean** she replied) and his own carefully selected emojis. He was a big fan of the bat, currently.

He went to a late dinner at their house the Friday before the Penguins left for one of the longer Canadian road trips, and brought a small cake, as well as flowers for Anna. She was barefoot when she answered the door, and holding two glasses of wine. Her toenails were painted pink.

She smiled as he traded her a glass of wine for the flowers, ducking in to kiss her on the cheek. She turned, just a little bit. Their noses brushed. “Thank you for flowers, Sidney.”

”You’re, uh. You’re welcome.” He said dumbly. “I brought cake.”

She laughed, her eyes glittering at him from where her face was buried in flowers. “You always bring cake.” She paused, looking at him. “Sweet mouth.”

Sid’s heart did a weird flip. “Uh. Sweet tooth, I think.”

”Yes, you’re right.” She led him into the house. Geno was standing in the kitchen, pretending that he was being in any way helpful. He was moving vegetables around a cutting board, not even chopping them. What an idiot.

Geno’s face split into a huge grin, cheesing like a kid. Sid wanted to touch him so badly. “Good, you’re here—can start grill.”

”You jerk, you invite me over for dinner and then make me do all the work.”

Geno sputtered, his eyes back on his hands, shuffling red peppers around on the counter. “No, you lie. Anya do work.”

Sid exchanged an amused look with Anna and went to go start the grill. Geno had bought a massive outdoor grill that he was too stubborn to admit he didn’t know how to work. As a result, every time Sid came over, he was relegated to grill duty—no matter the weather. He was glad he hadn’t taken his coat off.

He grilled steaks, Anna made salad, Geno got in everyone’s way. Nikita was in bed already, Anna said. She thought he might be coming down with something. They sat down to eat, and spent the meal discussing the season so far, and their tentative bye week plans.

Anna was relentless. “We all go to Miami, of course.”

”You’ll go to Miami. I was thinking maybe to do something in New England.” Sid said, spearing a piece of steak. “Hit up Boston or something.”

Her disdain for Boston was endless. “Miami, perfect. New York, okay, good shopping, good food. But Boston?” She shook her head. “No.”

Geno took that moment to butt in. “Sid, think, so fun. Miami is swimming, and fishing, and maybe you be better at basketball than Nikita.” His tongue dipped out over his lower lip, teasing. “Doubt it.”

Sid laughed, and poured the last of the wine into Anna’s glass. She toasted him, and Sid felt warm from the wine, warm from the looks on their faces, close and fond. He felt like he was under a very loving microscope. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

”Good enough.” Anna murmured, her voice gone syrupy-smooth with tiredness. She stood and took her plate to the sink. “Boys, I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” Her gaze flickered between Sid and Geno for a moment, her face unreadable. “Sid, you stay, okay?”

Sid froze, hand halfway to his wine glass. “What, uh. What do you—”

”I’ll make breakfast in the morning.” She speared Geno with a look. “Zhenya, do the dishes, please.” And exited.

It was quiet for a moment. Then, Geno spoke. “You help me.”

”Obviously.”

*

Geno had been proud as a peacock when he announced that Anna was pregnant. Proud as a peacock and happy as a clam, as Sid’s mom would have said. He couldn’t stop talking about it, about Anna’s cravings and what made her sick and what size the baby was, according to some obscure fruit reference chart that Sid couldn’t wrap his head around. He was pretty sure a peach was bigger than a lemon, but whatever. Geno couldn’t shut up about it.

Anna was glowing.

Sid couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, off of her and Geno together. He knew not to look at the sun, but he had no self-preservation when it came to this.

*

They loaded the dishwasher, then moved onto the serving dishes. Sid washed, Geno dried. Like always.

The silence was heavy, loaded with some tense sort of meaning Sid didn’t understand yet. Geno wasn’t looking at him, just drying and putting away dishes with the kind of single-minded determination usually found across the face-off dot. Sid chose to drop the puck. “So what did she mean?”

Geno shot a quick glance at Sid before turning away again. He was embarrassed. Sid felt heat lick up his spine. “She mean what she say.”

”She wants me to spend the night.”

_”Da.”_

”Here.”

Geno shrugged, the back of his neck burning.

Sid rinsed out the sponge and washed his hands, leaning his arms on the edge of the sink when he was finished. “What, like, in a guest room?”

”Guest room with me.” He shuffled his feet. “She’s kick me out for snore, anyway, probably.”

Sid didn’t know what to do with this idea. He felt like he was boiling inside, like he was going way too fast on those mountain switchbacks in—in Bond films, and, like, documentaries on wine. He was thinking too much about wine. He lowered his face to his clasped hands, pressing his knuckles into his forehead. “So, are we just going to sleep?”

Geno stopped breathing. Started again. He placed a hesitant hand on the small of Sid’s back, his touch an open flame. He always was a furnace. “Cleared for contact?”

He didn’t know what the rules were, anymore, with Geno. What he was allowed. The look in Anna’s eyes flashed in his mind, her gaze like glaciers. Glaciers that wanted him to fuck her husband, apparently. Geno dug his fingers into the thick muscle of Sid’s back and Sid moaned, brokenly.

”Fuck, Sid.” Geno sounded wrecked, and that was enough for Sid.

He surged up to kiss Geno, sloppy and uncoordinated. He tasted like wine. Sid anchored a hand on the back of Geno’s neck, thumb next to his jaw bone, but otherwise let Geno go to town. He was such a messy kisser and Sid loved it. He bit Geno’s lip and sucked on his tongue, teasing until Geno pressed him up against the counter and broke away, panting.

”Upstairs?”

”Upstairs.”

They were quiet as they climbed the stairs and made their way to the guest room, softly shutting the door behind them. The darkness pressed in, warm and soft. He let Geno tow him to the bed and strip his clothes off, laying kisses on each bared piece of skin. He could feel Geno fiddling with his own belt, shoving his slacks and underwear to the floor. Sid coasted his hands down Geno’s sides, over the perfect little strips of fat on his hips. He kissed Geno more deeply.

Geno laid back, drawing Sid between his spread thighs, his dark eyes fixed on Sid’s face. “We do like this, okay?” 

He was so turned on. It felt like his dick was hard enough to cut diamonds or something. “Fuck, G, yeah. Yeah.” He watched Geno as he reached up and slid a condom and a packet of lube out from under the pillow, and he let out an aborted little huff of laughter. “What, you plan this or something, bud?”

Geno’s hand was wet. It was wet and it was on Sid’s cock, and then gone again, working slickly between his thighs. He pressed Geno’s knees further apart and stole the packet of lube, slicking up his own fingers before he teased them towards where Geno’s own fingers were stretching him open. He stroked Geno’s rim and heard him sigh, and upon the next inward thrust he pressed one of his own fingers in, too. It was so tight, he always forgot how tight Geno got. Geno groaned.

”Yeah?”

Geno grunted. “Yeah, yeah, Sid—c’mon. Fuck me.”

”Shit, G.” He tore the condom open and rolled it on, shuffling his knees to get back into position. He braced himself on his arms and let Geno guide him in, let Geno’s greedy hole swallow him up. “Fuck, shit, god that’s so good.” He worked his hips shallowly in and out, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs, when he suddenly remembered Anna and had to bite down on his fist. She was here, she was just down the hall—maybe she was still awake.

His hips twisted wildly of their own volition, nailing him deep, and Geno moaned long and loud. Sid could see the outline of his shoulder, working furiously as he jacked himself between their stomachs. He kept making these noises, these soft low grunts, interspersed with louder groans whenever Sid gave it to him just right. Sid could feel himself blushing, could feel the heat spreading down his shoulders and chest, and he shushed Geno.

Geno moaned louder and pushed back on Sid’s cock, and Sid thought about lifting a hand and covering G’s mouth, giving him a few fingers to suck on, God, it was. It was too much. “Fuck, G,” he whispered, panting, “Shit, you gotta be quiet.”

He could feel Geno’s knuckles on his abs. Geno did not stop making noise.

”Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sid chanted. “Anna’s gonna hear us.”

Geno rolled his hips filthily and said, ”She like.”

Sid came. He came so hard he felt like the top of his head blew off, like his insides were scraped clean. He was never going to have another orgasm again—he had just used up a lifetime’s worth.

He was vaguely aware of Geno shoving him to the side as he collapsed, and he felt Geno start shaking and seize up as he came. He was out like a light.

*

Anna went into labor during Game 1 against the Sharks, and thank God they were in Pittsburgh. Geno was vibrating, filled with joyful restless energy, glued to his phone during every intermission. He was out like a rocket at the end of the game, hair still dripping water from the showers.

Sid sent them a group message. **Congrats, you guys. Can’t wait to meet him.** He thought for a moment, and attached a string of double pink hearts.

Hours later, Geno sent a picture of the three of them snuggled up on Anna’s hospital bed. They looked exhausted, but radiantly happy. Nikita had Geno’s eyes.

*

**Sid, you come to game with me and Nikita?))))**

Sid stared at his phone. She started typing again.

**can do press box))))))**

His entire worldview had experienced a seismic shift over the past two weeks. Anna had sent him to bed with her husband. She had probably heard them having sex. She had made them breakfast the next morning, and smiled at Sid when he poured her coffee, and _thanked him_.

And maybe checked out his ass when he bent over to unload the dishwasher.

She had created a group chat with him and Geno, and texted photos of her day, her over the top Christmas decor, and snarky little comments during the televised games. Sid liked her so much. He liked how she and Geno talked to each other, and jerked off more than once to the thought of the two of them with him in bed. It was fine.

He texted her back. **That sounds like fun :)**

**good I’ll pick you up)))))wear something cute**

Sid’s jaw dropped.

**and you’re coming with us for new year. you like vail, right? know how to ski?**

If his jaw could have dropped further it would have fallen off his face.

*

Sid agreed to babysit for them one night in late September, when Niki was just a few months old. It was towards the end of the preseason, and Geno said he wanted to take Anna to a casino resort for an overnight, their first away from the baby. Sid had agreed, feeling magnanimous due to the fact that they had just gotten back from Chicago, and Sid had gotten to rail Geno six ways from Sunday.

Anna texted him that morning as he was leaving the rink, a string of Cyrillic that he had no hope of translating, even with his daily Duolingo lessons—his streak was up to 181 days at this point. She texted him again, this time in English **sorry, that for Zhenya see you soon sid))** and he had shrugged.

It hadn’t been until later, with Nikita drooling on his chest—Sid hadn’t had the heart to lay him in his crib yet—that Sid had brought up various bits of translation software and plugged her message in.

**The lingerie I’m bringing on this trip is going to ruin your life.**

Sid choked.

It was fine.

*

He went with them for New Years.

Vail was beautiful year round, but he had to agree that it was especially magical during the holidays. It felt even more special now, because he was certain that they would have spent the holiday in Miami or Aruba or anyplace warm, if it hadn’t been for him.

They went skiing, and Nikita was the tiniest and cutest person in the world, all bundled up in his gear. Sid almost had a heart attack. He couldn’t wait until Geno started putting him in tiny hockey gear. When they dropped Nikita off at the child instruction area, they took to the slopes, Sid pulling back to take long videos of Anna and Geno cutting long swoops in front of him. When he showed the videos to Anna, she smiled at him and kissed his cheek, close to his mouth, and posted them to her Instagram. Geno winked at him salaciously over her shoulder and mouthed something.

_”What?”_ Sid whispered.

_”Instagram. Husband.”_ Geno rasped back at him, grinning. Anna elbowed him in the stomach.

He asked them if they wanted to go out and party for the countdown, but Anna just shrugged. “We don’t need it,” she said. “We have everything we need, right here.”

Nikita was in bed and they were cuddled into the huge squishy couch in their suite as the ball dropped in New York City. Geno had bullied Sid into sitting tucked under his arm, with Anna on Sid’s other side. They kissed, softly, as snow fell outside, Anna touching Sid’s face while she explored his mouth; Geno with his face buried in Sid’s neck.

And if Sid started the New Year with Geno riding his cock and Anna sitting on his face and grinding on his soft flat tongue until they all came, well.

That was a damn good way to start the year.


End file.
